


No More Good Expectations

by baths



Category: Homestuck
Genre: A Panic Attack, Blood, Claustrophobia, Crying, Gen, Light Torture, No Sex, Non Consensual Bondage, Physical Restraint, Threats, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baths/pseuds/baths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The irony of the situation doesn’t escape you; this is the thing you’ve been pushing for your whole life, you practically begged the highblood to do this sort of stuff to you, and yet here you are, panicked and nervous and terrified.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More Good Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> From [this homesmut prompt](http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/38671.html?thread=40325903#cmt40325903%0A): _Equius, consensually or otherwise (I like the idea of him being captured by an enemy, but whatever), is put in a cell and/or restraints of whatever type designed to hold his STRENGTH. No further harm is suffered, just the restriction. He assumes going in that he'll enjoy it. He assumes wrongly. See, up to this point in his life, he's never been successfully restrained at all before. He finds too late that he does not like the idea of being in a situation he can't get out of, and he's terrified. Good luck getting out of this one, Zahhak._
> 
>  
> 
> _Bonus if he does manage to escape using some method other than outright STRENGTH._
> 
>  
> 
> There's some comfort at the end, but it's mostly Equius panicking. Be strong, Equius!

It takes a whole horde of greenbloods to bring you down. They surround you like flies, iron grips just barely holding in your STRENGTH. You try to wrestle away from them, but they move and adjust to stop you from getting completely free. They growl at you to stay put; one of them sinks a row of teeth into your arm. You wince. It’s okay, though; you’re bearing the pain for everyone, for Aradia, maybe especially for Nepeta. You did what you had to do, and what happens now will be up to the sea dwelling highblood, Peixes’s ancestor.

Speaking of which, you can see a shadow approaching you, just over the edge of your shattered glasses. You know it’s hopeless, but you can’t help struggling a bit, just enough to feel their grips tightening around your arms. Even if you did get free, if you did push them just a bit farther, you couldn’t get anywhere before they caught you again. You may be self-punishing, but you’re not stupid. This whole situation will be much painless if you just let it happen to you.

The shadow gets closer, and you look up at its face. It towers over you, and a sheen of sweat breaks out over your face. You don’t bother to ask for a towel.

“The Void player?” Its voice is somehow low and shrill at the same time, impossible to place but difficult to forget.

The greenbloods murmur in reply.

The figure, still shadowed from your vision, places a hand on your temple. You can see your own bright blood on its fingertips.

“Your aspect has forsaken you,” it whispers, then commands: “Chain him down. I will send someone.”

Oh, lord. Even the thought of your subjugation is making sweat pour down your forehead. You feel blood warming your face and don’t even feel embarrassed about it. Maybe they will grace you with an indigoblood. They would put you in your place, in the natural, true order. The last thing you think before being bludgeoned into unconsciousness is how depraved it would be if Makara was the one to rescue you here, to find you in this beaten and submissive state. You fall asleep to thoughts of him taking his true place above you.

\----

You wake up slowly. There is no one demanding you get up, no one slicing at you, and no one nudging you with quiet fingers, urging you to get up and move quickly. You are alone.

Glancing forward, you can see only blank white walls, stained faintly with what you assume is blood. Most of it is brown, and you are reminded of your own brownblooded acquaintance. Maybe your eyes are tricking you, but it seems as if you can see it dripping down the walls in delicate droplets. It’s fresh.

You try to look around, take in your surroundings, but your head won’t move. You try again, and this time you feel a pressure around your forehead. There’s a similar one around your neck, your chest, your torso…and if you flick your eyes down, you can just barely see two carved metal rings, soldered to the chair you’re sitting on, encircling your wrists. You try to twist your hands out of them, but they’re much too tight. You can feel a similar setup on your forearms and around your biceps; the rings are hastily cut and soldered, but they are STRONG. Your legs are firmly attached to the chair as well, or at least you assume so. You can’t tilt your head to see.

You’re completely helpless. Not even your full STRENGTH is enough to break out of this. You still try, though. Your body writhes underneath the metal prison, but you can just barely move, let alone get the leverage it would take to shatter the thick bracelets. You start to breathe heavy.

This isn’t good. You’re panicking, you can feel your heart pounding against your chest cavity, and your twisting and writhing is just getting more and more desperate; you can feel your skin chafing and bleeding against the poorly cut metal.

There’s no way out. No way out. You can’t focus, can’t think, you can barely close your eyes to try and calm down. You try to take deep breaths, but they turn out shallow and panicked.

A door opens behind you and you jump, you efforts doubling under the stress of being found, of being so unable to protect yourself. The silence goes on for far too long.

A hand touches your shoulder, but you can’t turn your head to see who it is.

“Heir of Void.”

The voice is pitched so that you want to obey— _highblood_ — you want to hear that voice and be soothed by it, but it still doesn’t quite calm you down.

“Are you comfortable?”

You would shake your head; your voice is not going to be reliable right now. But it’s the only thing you have left.

“P-please let me go.” You almost whimper at how pitiable you sound. “Please.”

The troll laughs softly. “Why?”

“I won’t run. I _am_ your prisoner, i-it’s only fair.” You can’t control your words, you’re going to start pleading, crying, you can feel the tears welling up behind your eyes but you’re biting them back, this is not the time—

“I can’t let that happen.” The troll steps into your line of vision, and it’s a beautiful indigoblood, tall and powerful and intimidating. “How stupid do you think I am, Heir?”

You don’t have the presence of mind to get sweaty over that. You try to turn your thoughts inward, focus on not panicking, focus on not crying and not breaking down.

His claws scrape against your cheek, and you can feel the trickle of warmth down your face.

“It’s beautiful, really. So close to royal blood, this stuff. Almost pitiable.” His fingers collect the blood down your cheek, almost carefully. “Maybe that’s why she wants it.”

You see him pull back with your blood on his fingers. When he stands up, you can only see the bottom half of his torso, about eye-level with his belt. He laughs, and you wish you could tell if he was smiling or not.

“Be back soon.”

He leaves, and you dread the door slamming. You still jump a little when it does.

\----

You’ve controlled the struggling, you’re able to stay still and stop chafing your wrists, but you don’t feel any better about this. You still feel like you’re going to throw up over yourself. The irony of the situation doesn’t escape you; this is the thing you’ve been pushing for your whole life, you practically begged the highblood to do this sort of stuff to you, and yet here you are, panicked and nervous and terrified. You feel sick again, a different kind that’s closer to disgust when you think about all the times you tried to get the highblood (or even the lowbloods, for pity’s sake) to dominate you, to destroy you like this. You were so wrong. Wrong about everything.

A wash of disgust comes over you and you writhe helplessly in the chair. A low, uncontrollable sob comes from your lips, and you’re gone. You try to rein in the tears and choking breaths, but you can’t try that hard. The hot tears roll down your face, mixing with your blood and staining you. Your nose starts to run and you barely have the STRENGTH to sniff.

You’re a mess, to be sure. Thank the gods that Nepeta isn’t here to see this, to say nothing of any of your other teammates. At the same time, you sort of wish she was here; her sharp claws would slice through the bracelets and she would bury herself in you and you could do the same.

You wish you could wipe the tears from your face, but you can’t even rub your cheek against your shoulder. The wet tracks are cold against your skin and your eyelashes are stuck together. You try to fall asleep, ignoring your wet cheeks the best you can.

\-----

“Hey. Void.”

You jolt awake, or as close to a jolt as you can manage, being strapped down like you are. That indigoblood is leaning over you, his fangs one dangerous inch from yours.

“Awake yet?” he says. You don’t answer. “Just thought I’d come down to keep you company.”

He crouches next to you, and even with a knee on the ground he still looks down on you. His horns are these great twisting things, much thicker and more scarred than Makara’s, but similarly shaped. His fangs are sharp, and you can easily imagine them tearing through your jugular. You wouldn’t even be able to move away if he wanted to, wouldn’t be able to fight him. You have to fight to keep your breath even.

He lifts one huge hand, cups your chin in it, claws digging into your jaw. “You’re so delicate,” he says, running sharp lines down your skin. “I’d love to snap your neck and watch you bleed out right here. Break a few bones. Watch you bruise.”

His voice is purring, like...oh, gosh, is he _black-flirting_ with you? Bile rises in your throat and you breathe carefully, trying to keep yourself together. Your bloodpusher is going a million miles a minute. This is sick.

“Her Imperious Condescension would have me for a snack if I did, though,” he says, claws running down your throat, fangs dangerously close to your skin. “Maybe she’ll let me have the leftovers. After she’s done with you.”

Oh no, oh _no_ , this _can’t happen_ , it _can’t--_

“Please don’t, please don’t hurt me, please--” You’re babbling at this point, sobbing, hot tears running down your face. “I’ll do anything, please let me go, just let me out of these, _please_.” You strain against the bracelets around your wrists, feel them cut into your skin, see rings of bright blue skin appear underneath the metal.

“Oh, hell. Don’t tempt me, kid.” He runs his hands around your wrists, spreading your blood over his fingers. He raises them to his lips, licking your blood, your blood, off his fingers. He rakes his eyes across your body, your shaking, nervous body. “I’m leaving before I get myself into trouble.”

He leans down next to your ear-- you can’t even see him at this point-- and whispers.

“I’ll be back soon.”

You cry yourself to sleep that night.

\-----

You wake up under similar conditions. The room is the same barely-stained white, and you still can’t move your arms or legs.

You hear steps behind you, and it can only be that indigoblood again, back for more blood, maybe, back to take everything from you. There was a time when you might have sweat in anticipation of an indigoblood towering over you, taking you over, but instead you feel bile rising in your throat and your chest writhing with pain.

A small hand grasps at your forearm. “Equius?”

You still can’t turn to see who it is, but you know that voice. “N-nep—“

“Oh fucking hell, Equius, are you okay?” You can feel her scrabbling at the bracelets.

“I-I am—“

“I can’t get them undone—!” You hear her growl, fingers still rubbing against your skin. It’s almost welcome, you’re so glad she’s here, but you can’t move to see her and _she’s in danger_ —

“No time. Grab onto me, I’ll send us back.” Someone else is there too, one of the human redbloods-- _Harley_ \-- and suddenly there’s another hand on you.

A flash of green light, and you’re slumped in the middle of a plush pile, Nepeta on one side of you and Jade behind. Your limbs feel like jelly, but there’s a great relief of freedom washing over you.

“Are you okay?” Nepeta grabs onto you, her head buried in your chest. “I thought you were dead, holy shit.”

You can’t even say anything. You start to sob, quietly, into her head. Your tears are wetting her hair and snot is running down your face, but you don't care, not now. You even feel Jade placing a STRONG hand on your shoulder.

Nepeta looks up and wipes the snot from your nose with the edge of her sleeve. “Seriously though, are you alright?”

You nod. “Thank you, Nepeta.”

Jade squeezes your shoulder. “If you need anything, we’re here for you.”

You nod again, and let Nepeta nuzzle farther into you. Everything will be ok. You are free. Your moirail is next to you, running a calming hand down your back. You completed your mission, and the Condesce will fall.

Nepeta kisses the blue rings around your wrists, and you try to close your eyes and rest, just for a moment. You need to reevaluate some things, but first, you need to catch your breath.


End file.
